72. Flowers

I woke restored by sleep.

A wave of common sense flooded me as I bathed with my friends the next morning, Helena, in her gracefulness, not asking me to explain my behavior of yesterday.

Whatever may come, I would not meet it cowering and afraid.

I would meet my tomorrow like a wolf in winter, fangs ready for what I could take.

Once before I had been under threat of death.

And defiantly, I had lived.

By the speed of my mind and the sweat of my brow, I had survived and no helpful butcher in aid of my first husband had planted his knife in my ribs.

I had already cheated death.

Perhaps I could again.

I had two ideas in mind.

The first was that, in his dotage and having been a man of mysticism his whole life, Yro was wrong.

He was mad with old age and the specters of air.

Secondly, I thought, if perhaps he had been right, if I had only a short time left, then I must live it.

This, finally, caused me to realize that I should take all that I could get from Alric.

He desired my body and my companionship and if that was all he could offer, I wanted it.

I had done without love before.

That morning in the baths, everyone took their time.

The keep floors now held a chill and windows without tarps let in cold.

The warm water made us feel as though drunk.

Overcome with a sudden urge to thank my oldest friend, I put a soapy arm around her and whispered, “You never make me explain myself.

Thank you.”

Helena, misgiving in her face, said, “Never.

But should you want, here I am."

And I be here, my goddess had said when I returned to Pikestully to find Alric waiting.

Perhaps Mother Earth and Sister Sea offered that to us mortals, the understanding that they were there and that we had that capacity for each other.

It may have been a preference for my sex, but I found myself, in all my reading of The Farthest Four, drawn to the two goddesses.

Brother Air was unreachable in his mysteries, his only tangible gifts seeming to be for soldiering.

Father Fire was so singular in his energy, heat and the manipulation of heat, that I found no inspiration in the teachings of fire.

But the two goddesses covered the scope of life, the practical and the magical.

Overcome with a sense of sisterliness, I kissed Helena’s cheek.

“Well,”

said River, “if that’s allowed,”

and put her mouth to her lover’s.

Quinn was startled, but soon put her hands on River’s face and kissed her back.

There was an appreciative silence as the rest of us knew this was brave of Quinn.

But no other women in the baths paid us any mind.

“Let’s have a wedding,”

cooed Catrin and then looked embarrassed when the lovers broke apart to look at her.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not the same as a real one.

Oh my gods, I can’t seem to say this the right way.

Of course, it would be real to us—”

“I like it,”

said Quinn, eyes back on River.

“I should like to call you wife before I die.

What do you say, heart of my heart? Will you marry me?”

River’s face crumpled and she placed her wet head on Quinn’s chest, her lover’s hands cradling the back of it.

Helena, Maureen and Catrin began to cry openly, but smiled.

Mischa was pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

My own eyes formed tears.

“Thalia would let us use the temple,”

Quinn mused.

“Edie can officiate!”

said Helena.

“She will soon be a priestess, right?”

Ignoring thoughts of Yro’s words, I clapped my hands and said, “So I have been told.

Can you wait until nearly summer? We could have your ceremony on the morning of The Rush of Flowers and then celebrate that night in an ocean of petals.”

“I have no preference,”

said Quinn, her eyes soft.

She was not a beauty, her nose somewhat hooked and face square, but in that moment I had never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.

“Well, I do,”

said River between sobs.

“I want to do what Edie says.

I want flowers.”

“And you shall have them, dear,”

her now betrothed answered.

Quinn looked at me and there was a knowing in her eyes that only two victims of the same crime can share.

“All the flowers you want,”

she said, but she still looked at me.

“I will no longer hide my love in a box.”

I gave her a serious nod at these words.

Yet again, tears came to my eyes and I began to wash my face to cover this.

I had opened a dam back in the orchardists’ hayloft and now I could not stop crying.

Emotional but celebratory, we gathered at our table in the dining hall, eating the grilled fish, pears and boiled eggs at the tables.

Quinn sipped at her morning tea, in no hurry to speak, but paying attention to River, who was saying she wanted a traditional wedding dress.

Catrin was asking if she could embroider one for her.

Helena and Maureen were saying we should all have the same kind of flower crown except for the two brides, as their bridesmaids.

Mischa confessed she had stolen two jugs of the now dwindling Ruskar wine and that we should open one in the dormitory tonight to celebrate the engagement.

We were in a huddle of felicity and friendship and while I cried easily in these days, I learned I smiled easily too.

I was midway in laughter at something Mischa said, when I felt his eyes on me.

I looked up and over at the Procurers’ table to see Alric, sitting motionless, watching me.

And, because I had resolved to cherish every remaining bit of life that I had, I directed my smile at him, feeling both sides of brave, reckless and resolute.

There was a flicker of surprise in his face, but I felt my smile was not unwelcome.